


Let There Be Light

by headofporridge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Demons, Hell, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rescue, Salvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headofporridge/pseuds/headofporridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one can walk the path to salvation alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let There Be Light

_*******************************_

_In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth._

_*******************************_

 

It was hot as balls, which made everything annoying as hell. The brief flash of headlights through the window as another wanderer found their way to this piece-of-crap motel made everything seem even blacker than they had before once the light was gone. The old sheets on the bed scratched his skin, and were stifling even with all the blankets kicked off onto the floor. The old piece-of-crap air conditioner by the window rattled like gnashing teeth, giving off a faintly worrisome smoky smell rather than any kind of relief from the heat. Water rushed innocuously through the pipes in the wall by his head, his morbid imagination supplying the helpless gurgles of a drowning man as he listened.

 

Even the sound of his brother, blissfully breathing and snoring away in the bed next to him, a rhythm as intimate and familiar as his own heartbeat, was loud and oppressive rather than calming as it should have been.

 

All of these were things he _knew_ , old friends that had kept him company for all his life when nearly nothing else was constant or reliable. But now, as he lay awake, they twisted into him like a knife, worrying away at painful places that he tried to forget he had. It was nostalgia for the memory of it all after returning from far away, no longer seeing through eyes that had been so much more idealistic than he had ever thought, having long since wasted away into bitterness.

 

It hurt.

 

Though he supposed it was only natural that now everything would remind him of hell, even the beautiful sound of his _alive_ little brother breathing peacefully as he slept.

 

It had been much easier at first, in the beginning when there had been nothing but the dirt running through his fingers and getting under his nails, sweat turning the earth to mud that streaked his skin, digging up and up and out, before _Light_ and sky. Then, when he was newly alive, there had been very little to remind him of anything at all, much less hell.

 

He rolled out of bed. _Now_ there were memories hiding everywhere, in his dim reflection as he passed the mirror hanging by the TV, on the top shelf of the fridge as he grabbed a beer, under his boots as he laced them on…traps and sinkholes that sometimes were so bad he began to wonder if he’d _really_ managed to get out.

 

Although he’d suffered from memories seeping in ever since he’d crawled out of that box in the ground, he still didn’t remember hell very well. Put back in a human body with human ideas about the passage of time, he couldn’t really make sense of the disjointed memories that filtered through in no particular order and couldn’t be arranged linearly, but he _remembered_ being in a form where it had all made sense. It was so bad that it had even begun to scramble his sense of time from Before, arranging his memories in strange orders as they fell out of line in his mind. He’d probably never remember quite right.

 

The clock on the wall ticked, cheerfully verifying that time was still in fact moving forward. He ground the heels of his palms into his bleary eyes and crossed the room to the door, his faint shadow reminding him of hell. As he opened the door, a chorus of crickets singing a hellish cacophony greeted him, urging him to quickly slip through and close the door before his brother woke up. He leaned against the door, the ground hard and unyielding beneath his feet and reminding him of hell.

 

The only light in the parking lot was a lone streetlamp off to the side, casting strange shadows over the cars and shrubs. The air was hot and hazy, blocking out the stars and sliding down his throat uncomfortably, his beer barely taking the edge off. A car drove by on the highway, small lights approaching from the distance and fading away into the black, music blaring from the open windows and reminding him of hell.

  

_*******************************_

_Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters._

_*******************************_

Hell wasn’t something to talk about. It was less that he didn’t _want_ to talk about it (although there certainly was that as well), but more that there were no words that could really describe it. It was dark, but that seemed like such a mundane word up on earth, when in hell there were so many other things folded up into it. Hell was dark like smoke, like ashes and coal, like frostbitten flesh, or some sinister infection that got up in everything until there was nothing else. Trying to think about it made his human head spin.

 

His brother hadn’t given up asking him about it, although he’d gotten more subtle over time. If it had been about anything else he would have just spilled his guts already so that his brother would _shut up_ , but any descriptions he came up with seemed woefully inadequate. How could he explain the difference between demons and souls, how when he’d first arrived in that unfathomably dark place he’d been a feeble light begging to be snuffed out, like a pitiful candle alone in a stormy night. And that was just the beginning, not even getting into trying to explain what hurt and why, how they’d pulled and ripped and cut the light out of him to make him just as dark and black as they were.

 

It certainly hurt far more than burns and snapping bones and tearing flesh.

 

He supposed that one day he’d have to try, if only to explain to his brother that extra feeling of nausea he always got when he saw demons’ smoky forms with his weak human eyes, to try to make him understand that those forms were more real than they’d ever dared to think, even though they also barely even _resembled_ what they really were at all.

 

It was all rather pointless though, something he shouldn’t waste his time thinking about. Souls perceived the world differently when they weren’t wearing bodies and just because he’d gotten a taste of that world early didn’t mean he should let it consume him. He was _out_ , and he’d never have to feel that kind of pain again, deep and horrifying because it would never end, breaking down and reshaping rather than breaking apart.

 

That was the heart of the matter, in the end, mashing and pulling and ripping and cutting you into a dark shapeless mass of soul, then reshaping yourself into a demon as you wrenched the light out of other damned souls in the only thing like relief you could get. They trained you well in hell, conditioning you to eagerly do their work, only daring to feebly hope that if you just did what they wanted that it would speed the process along so that maybe the pain would finally go _away._ But even when you fully became a demon, it never did.

 

It was an endless cycle of unholy work, one that he had gladly lost himself in at the expense of all will and thought, until he was nothing but dark.

 

_*******************************_

_And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness._

_*******************************_

 

When the light came, it was as though a bomb had gone off. Where there had been nothing but the faint and flickering light of the newly-arrived souls, there was suddenly light _everywhere_. The demons were tossed about and destroyed, some running away shrieking but unable to escape. He, along with the other souls around him, had done nothing. They were nothing more than inert puddles of tar only good for dragging things down. But even so, they were afraid.

 

He was unremarkable and no different from any of the other souls that cowered as the light passed over them, but as the light lingered he began to wonder why it had come, what it could possibly hope to see in the darkest places of hell. Under the light’s presence, he hissed and writhed in a new kind of pain, and he began to feel angry, something hot bubbling up from inside him.

 

The light drew closer, his anger drawing it to him like a beacon. Terrified, his anger drained away as he fervently hoped that the light would lose interest before it touched him. He grew still, melting back into the sea of souls around him until he was indistinguishable from them again. However, the light that approached him grew more and more distinct until it was apparent to him that there was not one light, but many of which this was one. It reached out, but after one horrifying eternity it pulled back on itself, somehow seeming smaller even as it existed everywhere at once. He felt it beckon to him, pulsing waves that swept through all of hell and rattled him to his center where that anger had bubbled up.

 

But nothing responded.

 

As he waited, the lights began to go out one by one, the overwhelming pain dimming until it was merely uncomfortable. The souls around him drew together expectantly (for the Work couldn’t resume until the light was gone), but he instead began to be more aware of the lines that divided him from them. He felt a surprising disappointment as the lights went away, realizing that while before it had always seemed to have been dark, now it was impossible to imagine the light not being. Now there was a before, and there would soon be an after. An after of more darkness that would probably never end again.

 

There was only one light left, the light that had approached him. It seemed reluctant to leave, but he knew that it wouldn’t, and couldn’t, stay long.

 

Something felt looser. That anger was bubbling up in him again. He didn’t want to be chained to the Work anymore. How dare the one remaining light, _his_ light, leave without him?!

 

Before he could think about it and lose his only chance, he wrenched himself away from his brethren and latched tightly onto the light, sizzling from within with anger and from without from contact.

 

Immediately the light grew brighter, until all of hell ceased to exist. It burned painfully, but he didn’t want to go through another eternity in darkness, so he held on even tighter. He felt some remainder of the light’s call still rattling around inside him, and he opened up in response, because he didn’t want to be in hell anymore, he wanted Out.

 

When the light reached into him, it was excruciating. It pulsed waves of intent through him, filling and branding as it searched for something in a sea of nothingness. But even as he began to lose faith, the light found something to grip, and (here was where words truly failed him) _pulled_ Dean out of himself, searing him with light. _Be not afraid,_ he knew more than heard, as he felt the Light gently cradle his filthy soul, keeping its grip tight as it unfurled its wings and flew.

 

_*******************************_

_And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.”_

_*******************************_

As the Light cut through the darkness, Dean clung tightly to it, terrified that he might fall. Somewhere along the line the Light had gone from being the most horrifying thing that existed to the first thing that he could remember making him feel safe. The darkness was all around, but Dean was cradled in light, so there was nothing else. Nothing but the Light…and Dean. Those faint lines he’d felt shaping his boundaries were sharper now, distinct and indisputable. _Dean_ existed.

 

What then was the Light?

 

Curiosity overtook the hazy comfort he’d been feeling as began to wonder what this being that had appeared where it had no business appearing could possibly be. It was the first real question he’d had in forever, and he miserably realized that he no longer had any means with which to ask it. He squirmed, having no other way of communicating his distress.

 

The Light pulled him closer soothingly, and gently breathed into him. Something came loose and thrashed about in the hollow place growing inside him, caught up in the draft. It was evasive and unwilling to be caught, rolling around in him like a stone and impossible to catch hold of. Dean fumbled around with it while the Light silently waited, his efforts bearing fruit when he finally felt himself breathe the word, _Sam._

 

 _No_ , the Voice answered.

 

Dean paused. There were no other Words, _Sam_ the one secret treasure that he had clutched tightly to himself as the rest of him atrophied away. But that was wrong, nothing was gone, only ripped and shredded into unrecognizable pieces that could now freely drift along currents of light.

 

 _Bobby?_ he asked, feeling the name coalesce in a corner of the hollowness.

 

 _No_.

 

Once more Dean was lost, fragments of himself teasing him with possibilities. He grabbed hold of them, stacking them into a tower that just might be tall enough to climb out of hell, a monument to the closest thing to a God that he had ever had.

 

 _Dad?_ he asked timidly.

 

But the Voice once more told him, _No._

 

The tower collapsed, and Dean was ruined, surrounded by broken pieces of himself that he had failed at putting together. He hopelessly considered them for a long time, despairing when he was unable to fathom them into the name of anyone else who might have come for him. Feebly he muttered the three words again and again, but they didn’t change or grow. He could do nothing else.

 

The Voice breathed softly over him, warm and whole, gently wafting together a few small pieces that Dean had overlooked as he built his tower. They joined effortlessly, as seamless and perfect as the Voice was and Dean was not. The Voice wordlessly offered what it had made to Dean without a word, drawing back expectantly as he puzzled over the strange thing. It was different from the names; it settled heavily into him with the weight of promise.

 

 _Help_ , he pleaded faintly, _help._

 

 _Breathe,_ the Voice that was neither Dean nor Sam nor Bobby nor Dad replied.

 

Dean savored the sensation of his breath, wilder than the Voice’s but not nearly as powerful. He found a few pieces light enough to lift, and he cautiously blew them together. As the Voice had done, he presented what he had made, expectant and hopeful.

 

 _Who?_ he asked.

 

The voice whispered, _Castiel,_ and Dean shook.

 

 

*******************************

_And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear.”_

_*******************************_

_Who are you?_ Castiel wondered.

 

 _Dean…Winchester_ , Dean replied carefully, the words becoming easier to shape now that he’d done it once.

 

 _Are you?_ Castiel asked disbelievingly.

_Of course I am!_ Dean retorted indignantly.

_Are you sure?_

 

Without the broken pieces floating around inside him, there was ample room for Castiel’s question to rush in like a storm, shaking Dean and pulling him under its weight. He was tossed about; unable to find his breath, and unable to say anything without it. But when it grew too overwhelming, the question began to drain away, unable to hold to Dean’s mind for very long.

 

However, as the question settled, Dean wilted, because Castiel was right. He remembered Dean Winchester, he now remembered _being_ Dean Winchester, and while he didn’t remember exactly when he’d _stopped_ being Dean Winchester, he knew that he surely had. _Dean_ was nothing but a tattered concept that he had nostalgically applied to himself. _No_ , Dean mumbled sadly.

_Then who_ are _you?_ Castiel asked him again, breathing the question into him like a challenge.

 

This time, Dean fought the storm, scrambling for a way to beat it. He wasn’t sure, but he felt that if he let himself be swept away, Castiel either wouldn’t or couldn’t rescue him. All around him, there was nothing but the question, which infuriatingly hid any answers he might have within.

 

Fervently he pushed back on the question, and was rewarded by a slip of land just big enough to hold onto. Exhausted, he collapsed upon the island rising out of him, before realizing that he had forced his way through to an answer. He tested the words carefully, not entirely satisfied by them but accepting that they were True and were therefore an answer he could give successfully.

_You are ashamed,_ Castiel stated, noticing Dean’s hesitation, _Be not so._

 

Dean trembled as the question surged around him, feeling like his answer would be just as important as the decision to accompany the Light had been. _Help_ , he begged.

 

Castiel was solid and secure around him, much bigger and easier to hold onto than his answer. It made Dean feel braver as Castiel asked one more time, _Who are you?_

 

 _The one you saved_ , Dean answered.

 

Castiel pulled him close and said, _Yes._

 

From there, from that one truth rising out of hell, Dean felt himself become stable and grounded, and hell began to recede.

 

_*******************************_

_Then God said, “Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds.”_

_*******************************_

 

As he felt hell recede in his mind, pooling and draining away, Dean shivered, suddenly aware of how barren he was without hell cloaking him. All around him was a wasteland, dotted with withered stumps and blasted earth, nothing else to be found anywhere. _That’s not quite true,_ Castiel corrected gently, _Look deeper._

 

As he obeyed Castiel’s instruction, Dean couldn’t help but think of Sam, those memories deeply buried, where they had lain unmolested all this time. Now, a gentle prod sent them surging to the surface, unfurling and luxuriating in Castiel’s Light, while sending down roots that spread wide and strong. As Dean bore witness to their rebirth, the memories grew large and bore fruit, flawless temptations that were well within reach. _Not yet_ , Castiel cautioned, _or you may take nothing else. There is another fruit you must find first._

 

Bobby was an easy next step, the cut-down memory sending up shoots that seemed to grow as tall and all-encompassing as Castiel, although Dean knew that such a thing was impossible. Still, Dean rested for a while beneath the shade that those memories gave, halfheartedly noticing the small fruits that dangled far beyond his grasp. _They are Good fruit,_ Castiel said of them, _But you are not yet able to reach them. Keep looking._

 

Dean knew that next he must find his father. _These_ memories had thorns that sliced him open. The wounds were warm and dripped down onto the memories, nursing them back to life until they spread thick and low all about, but never bearing fruit. Shamefully, Dean realized that a few drops fell onto Castiel’s Light, staining it. _It is alright_ , Castiel soothed, his Light pulsing warmth into the wounded places and staining itself further, _But you needn’t linger among the thorns, there is far more to do._

 

He continued to search himself, finding other dormant memories that grew under his attentions: small memories, tall ones, ones that grew in inhospitable places or on top of each other in a warm tangled mess, Castiel’s Light always around and within him. But there was always some reason to not take the fruit they bore, so Dean pressed on until not one patch of barren wasteland remained.

 

 _I told you,_ Castiel said proudly as Dean surveyed himself, the small island he’d begun with now a towering mountain surrounded by lush valleys and plains, _You only had to look Deeper, Dean Winchester._

 

Dean smiled easily, wandering toward the top of the mountain, where a small memory that he didn’t remember restoring grew. It was covered in thorns, but rather than cruel and ugly, the thorns were small and simply _how it was_. As he approached, he realized that the memory was larger than it had first appeared, and he gratefully lay down to rest in its shade. Surrounded by it, it felt _old_ , as though it did not belong only to him but spread far wider than he could possibly understand to shelter those who needed it. It reminded him of Castiel, who shook Dean gently from his rest and said, _Arise and eat_.

 

Dean grasped the fruit of this memory, small clusters of tiny hard fruits that felt like eternity as he ate them. _You may wish to gather some to take with you,_ Castiel suggested, _for they will fortify you when you are weak._

 

Dean followed Castiel’s direction, but as he did so he noticed a small pool of hell that had hidden amongst the flourishing memories at the base of the mountain, still very real and certainly poisoning some of the fruit. As he leaned off the mountain, he began to make out other similar pools scattered all around, spoiling the landscape. Castiel firmly brought him away from the edge, wrapping around him tightly. _Hell is a part of you Dean,_ he said regretfully, _There is nothing to be done about it._

 

Dean sighed and curled up closer to Castiel’s Light, which was still overwhelming enough that he almost didn’t notice hell.

 

_*******************************_

_And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth.” And it was so._

_*******************************_

Dean thought about going back down from the mountain to eat fruit from another memory, but he found himself unwilling to climb back down...perhaps because of the pools of hell rippling sinisterly below. He went to the very top of the mountain instead, luxuriating in the feeling of size. Castiel was still insurmountably more vast than Dean, but the mountain was large enough that he at least didn't feel small. _Don't you want to stay here forever?_ Dean asked, pleased overall with his domain.

 

Castiel’s exasperation spilled into Dean like an overflowing cup. _No,_ he answered shortly.

 

Dean pushed Castiel away. _What_ do _you want?_ he asked petulantly.

 

Castiel only responded by tightening his vice-like grip on Dean. It burned, but Dean couldn’t tell exactly where. It felt Outside. _What is above you?_ Castiel asked.

 

Dean gestured to the vast plains of himself far below. _Nothing._

 

A sharp squeeze. _Wrong,_ Castiel insisted.

 

Castiel’s voice, like the Light, seemed to come from _everywhere_. But as Dean listened to the resounding words, they began to narrow, originating elsewhere while echoing everywhere. _Where are you?_ Dean asked anxiously, suddenly wishing that he hadn't pushed Castiel away.

_What is above you?_ Castiel repeated relentlessly, his very-much-there grip the only thing assuring Dean that he hadn’t gone away.

 

Again, Castiel felt Outside, a concept that Dean wholly rebelled against. It didn't make sense for Castiel to be anywhere but Here, because Castiel _was,_ and everything that _was_ was Here. Even with hell lurking at the edges, this place was _his,_ a haven of memories where he was Safe. Where else could Castiel be?

 

 _Where are you?_ Castiel breathed into him, the question warm, while everything else suddenly felt cold, _I am Near._

 

Castiel’s Light shone through Dean but that didn’t help him _understand_ , all it did was make Dean feel small and not Enough, because _Castiel_ was the Light and without him Dean would be nothing but Dark. The Light was in Dean, but unlike the mountain and memories, it wasn't _his_. It had _reached_ in from outside, where it held him, where Castiel gripped him tight.

 

Dean tried to follow the Light out to where it was coming from, but it was everywhere at once, filling all the cracks and holes and shielding him from hell. _Dean, what is above you?_ Castiel demanded, his voice loud and piercing and _Outside._

 

Dean tried to look up, because he knew now that Castiel was above him, but he couldn’t fathom how. Everything was around or below. Surely there couldn't be _more_ than the memories and names and truths. _What lies before you?_ asked Castiel, his voice a firm pull towards something Dean couldn't understand.

_Myself,_ he admitted heavily, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside the Light and never come out.

 

However, the Light, Voice, and Breath were all above, outside, reaching down into him. _Castiel_ was outside, holding Dean as tightly as ever, but he felt far away, so far that Dean felt Afraid. Where the Fear _was_ , everything seemed Dark again, and the Fear grew and grew until there was nothing else. In the Dark, Dean fumbled about helplessly, because he couldn’t _see._ _Castiel!_ Dean called, reaching blindly but no longer able to find him.

_Dean. I am here,_ Castiel called back as Dean continued to thrash wildly in the Dark, _but you must hold still!_

_Help!_ Dean cried desperately, his frantic flails finally finding some fragment of Castiel and holding on with everything he had left, because he was certain that he would lose Castiel forever if he didn't, and he _couldn't_ go back _now._

 

Castiel seemed taken aback as Dean held on with a grip more tight than his own, and he breathed down a gentle command that chased all the Darkness away. _Open your eyes._

 

Dean looked up, and saw _Blue._

 

_*******************************_

_And God said, “Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the vault of the sky.”_

_*******************************_

At first, all that Dean could see was blue, because there was only Castiel, and Castiel was _blue._ But then he saw _red_ , and he realized that for all that time he had spent lost inside himself, Castiel had been fighting their way out of hell. His Light was sharp and terrifying as it smote every demon it touched, but the flood of Darkness came in unceasingly.

 

Dean shivered, suddenly cold as he became aware of hell whipping past them as Castiel flew. It was as cold as Dean was, but Castiel, who was warm, pulled Dean closer and breathed into him so that he wouldn’t freeze from within. Dean made himself as small as possible and tried to ignore the pinpricks of cold that were so much more profound and painful than all of the pain he’d felt in hell before. It made him want to curl back up inside himself and never come out again.

All around them, Dean could hear shrieking demons whose voices pulled and tore at the Light, trying desperately to snuff it out. The task was futile, Castiel was far too _big_ to fall on account of any mere demons, but the sound of pieces of Light being wrenched away from him cut Dean even more deeply than the sound of his own Light being severed had. It made Dean want to tear himself apart so he wouldn’t have to hear anything anymore, but Castiel whispered to him with a voice louder than all the demons, and the pain went away. However, he couldn’t hide the gory sight of pieces of Light being ripped away, parts of Castiel that he could never retrieve, as Dean well knew. Dean fervently wished that he’d never opened his eyes.

 

Dean looked away, out into the darkness, but the little pieces of flickering Light falling off of Castiel allowed him to pick out shapes and faces, ugly and angry faces that were saying horrible things he couldn’t even imagine. Even so, they were so soothing to look at compared to the painful sight of Castiel being slowly torn apart, and Dean stared hungrily at them. Morbidly transfixed, he leaned out into the Dark, and Castiel’s grip began to slip. _Dean!_ Castiel commanded, a note of panic coloring his Voice, _Only look at Me!_

 

Dean wrenched his eyes away from the demons and looked to the Light, to the _Blue._ Even though he was wounded, and tainted forever by touching as filthy a thing as Dean, Castiel was the most beautiful thing that Dean had ever seen. He couldn’t imagine how something as Dark as him could be _allowed_ to see something so beautiful, that spoke to him with a Voice so perfect that it could only have been creation’s masterpiece. He felt absurdly grateful, that his eyes and ears were open to behold this being that embodied all the beauty he’d forgotten existed while he wasted away in hell. _Don't let go...don't let me fall,_ he cried pitifully as he clung to a salvation that he would _never_ deserve.

_If you fall, I Fall with you,_ Castiel promised, terrifying and beautiful.

 

Dean closed his eyes and shuddered. _Thank you,_ he whispered.

 

Castiel hummed with words he wouldn't say, but cradled in Light, Dean didn't mind. _What is above you Dean?_ Castiel asked yet again.

_You,_ Dean answered proudly.

_That is so_ _, but what else?_

 

This puzzled Dean. _Nothing_ , he replied, _There’s only me, and you._

_But where then, is Sam?_

 

Dean thought of Sam, safely tucked away inside himself, but he knew that somewhere else there was another Sam, a _real_ Sam that was impossibly just as beautiful as Castiel. _Where are we?_ Castiel asked, the _blue_ piercing through Dean.

_Hell,_ he answered without thinking.

_Is Sam here?_

 

The thought horrified Dean. _No!_ he replied vehemently.

_Then where is he?_ Castiel prodded gently.

Sam was home, where a car would take him where he needed to go, where he could drink beer and eat pie, and where he could sleep and be safeSafe _Safe_. Home was where Dean had been before he came to hell, before he’d been dragged away. There, the sun and moon were always there, lighting the world and hiding hell in the shadows so you’d be safe.

 

Castiel’s wings beat, strong and steady as they flew, untiring. _The sky is above us_ , Dean announced breathlessly.

_So it is Dean_ , Castiel replied, _But is there nothing we must pass through first?_

 

Dean thought for a while, listening to Castiel’s wings beating slowly, almost as if they were in…

 

 _Water,_ Dean answered, _We’ve got to go through water._

_Very good,_ Castiel praised _._

 

As though Dean’s word was all it took, there was water all around, warm and clean. It made Dean feel so _dirty_ , more ashamed of himself than he’d ever felt before. _Hold your breath,_ Castiel ordered, as clean and pure as the water around them.

 

A dark stain followed them up through the water, thick streams of filth that left clean skin behind. The Water seeped into all the wounded, oozing, and broken places that Castiel’s Light had guarded, soothing away the pain and Healing his tattered soul.

 

Everything that was heavy, that hurt to think about, was taken away by the Water. As it washed over them, Dean became distantly aware of Fire, burning a hole through Family so that evil things could get in and make it sick, Dean desperately trying to hold it together because when it broke he would have Nothing. Castiel Saw, and held Dean tighter.

 

As the fire burned, it also fell and smote, death and smoke the gleeful creation of a Brother but only tasting like regret to Castiel as he wondered whether he'd truly looked hard enough. The family wasn't supposed to look back, but the Mother turned to salt and left a hole behind that hurt Castiel just as much because family was so beautiful and he didn't have one. Dean Saw and wished he could take some of that pain from Castiel, but then the water swept the fire away.

 

After the fire, Dean thought of Failure, of all other the things that he'd allowed demons to take from him. There were those that he didn't know and never would know because they were Gone, black smoke like fire choking them and tearing them apart until there was nothing left to hold on to. Then there were the ones that Hurt, because after the mother came the Father, and then the Brother, who had the black smoke inside and was too willing to say Yes and let it growGrow _Grow_ until it consumed him and even when Dean was There he could do nothing to _stop_ it.

 

The Garden was beautiful, but not nearly as beautiful as the Man and the Lady. Castiel liked it best when they sang together, or when they told him the Names, because that was their job. He liked them better than his brothers, even more than his father, but that was a secret he would never tell. So when the lady went walking alone, he followed her, even when he was too small to _stop_ it, even when they left the garden and wandered the earth. One of his brothers had needed to drag him Home while he cried because he was so _helpless_ and couldn't even help the ones he loved the most.

 

The water drew it all out before them before washing it all away, finally beginning to run clear. As they pushed up and out, Dean's breath pounded inside him, demanding to be let go. He held it down, gripping it almost as tightly as Castiel gripped him, because he couldn't breathe _yet._ The water pushed up on them, innumerable grips asking them what they were waiting for.

 

 

When they came up out of the water, the Sky opened up before them, and they breathed it in.

_*******************************_

_And God said, “Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: the livestock, the creatures that move along the ground, and the wild animals, each according to its kind.” And it was so._

_*******************************_

As they floated in the water, Dean savored the feeling of water dripping off his new skin. It was warm, and wrapped around him almost as perfectly as Castiel’s light. The water and sky were clean, rushing in through his nose and mixing with his breath. Water ran into his eyes, but it still felt nice. The sound of water splashing against Castiel’s wings was almost as beautiful as Castiel’s voice.

 

Dean was perfectly happy to float in the water for the rest of forever, but apparently Castiel had other plans for them. After a moment’s rest, he guided Dean through the water, eventually coming to the Land, a tall mountain rising up out of the water. Without letting go, he pulled away from Dean and stepped out of the water, waiting expectantly. _Come,_ he ordered.

 

Dean didn’t want to. As far as he could tell the land didn’t have very much going for it. It was warm in the water and it was cold on the land…the choice seemed fairly easy to him. _Why?_ he asked.

_Because you belong here,_ Castiel answered, flapping his wings and shaking water off the feathers, _Or are you a fish?_

 

Dean felt himself darken, _I’m Dean Winchester,_ he muttered, _and you can’t tell me what to do._

_You are lazy,_ Castiel retorted, _you do not wish to step onto the land because it will be_ hard _._

 

Dean growled, _That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who’s gonna freeze!_

 

Castiel’s Light flared. _Come up to me Dean Winchester!_ _If you are cold, then build a fire. Or is that too hard for a little fish like you?_

 

Dean surged forward, tackling Castiel and pinning him to the ground. _Shut up,_ _you son of a bitch_ _!_ he snarled, anger blazing bright in him.

 

Castiel let out a huff that might have been a laugh. _You are very warm,_ he observed, _and quick to anger_.

Dean felt his satisfaction fade as he realized that he’d been played, but Castiel’s soothing touch kept him from getting too upset. _Well I’m here,_ he grumbled, _What now?_

_I_ _thought we’d sit quietly for a moment_ _,_ said Castiel, pulling Dean close, _The first step is hardest._

 

Dean didn’t have a problem with this plan; he _was_ tired, and somehow Castiel felt even warmer when Dean had his own warmth to share. He felt himself slowly drifting away until Castiel shook him gently, _You cannot sleep yet. We must move on now._

The earth was warm and solid beneath them as they got up, but Castiel spread his wings and shot them up into the sky, flying far faster and with a greater sense of urgency than before.

 

_*******************************_

_Then God said, “Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.” So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them._

_*******************************_

 

As they flew, Dean asked, _Why’d you want me to go on land so much if we were just gonna fly anyway?_

 

Castiel murmured, _Because you needed to leave the Water._

 

Dean still wasn’t entirely sold on that idea, but Castiel hadn’t led them wrong yet, so Dean had faith in his plan anyway. Even so, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t question it. _But why are we flying?_ he let himself ask.

 

This seemed to amuse Castiel. _We have a long way to go, and you cannot walk properly._

 

There was no arguing with that, but Dean usually liked to be better informed as to the Plan. _Where are we going?_

_That depends on where you want to go._

All that Dean could really think of was that hell sucked, and they weren’t in hell, and that was awesome. As long as Castiel was around, there was Light and Warmth and a Voice, so it didn’t really matter where they were. Castiel tutted gently. _What about Sam?_

 

As always, Castiel brought up a good point. Sam was the reason Dean had gone to hell in the first place, going back to him now seemed like the right thing to do. _I want to go to where Sam is,_ Dean declared.

_Why?_ asked Castiel.

 

Castiel always asked the weirdest questions. _Because he’s my brother!_ Dean retorted.

_You are being lazy again Dean._ Why _do you want to go to Sam?_

 

Dean closed his eyes and curled up tighter to Castiel’s Light, sullenly answering, _You don’t have to take me if you don’t want to. Staying with you is fine anyway._

 

A little jump rattled through Castiel. _Me?_ he probed curiously.

_Yeah, sure,_ Dean replied dismissively, feeling slightly embarrassed.

 

Castiel became Silent. Dean reopened his eyes in concern and looked up at him, surprised to notice that Castiel was not entirely Blue, but stained Red in some places. Could he have been wounded by Hell after all? Had demons done this? Castiel seemed to notice Dean’s worry and reassured him, _The Red is Yours. Do you not remember?_

 

They passed over a plain thick with thorns, Dean suddenly very glad that they were not walking. But as it faded out of sight, he thought back to another thorny place where he’d cut himself open with memories that should have been Good but were lanced with Pain. It was pain that he’d never shared with anyone ever, but kept closely to himself so that not even Sam would find it, because it was _Dean’s_. _You can have it back, if you want,_ Castiel said.

_Keep it,_ said Dean, _I want you to have it._

 

As he said so, Dean noticed his Red begin to fade and mix with the Blue, bleeding purple before disappearing altogether in it. But he knew that it was still there, because he could feel its absence within him. However, for all that Dean felt as though he'd become lighter, he must have actually become much heavier, because Castiel immediately began to hang lower in the sky. They slowly descended, landing on a patch of bare earth. Castiel laid him down on the ground, but kept a tight grip on him. _Why are we stopping?_ Dean asked, hoping that it wasn't somehow his fault.

_Because this_ _is a stop_ _,_ Castiel reassured him, _Where do you want to go next?_

 

The earth was dry and dustyon Dean’s skin. _I’m thirsty_ , he admitted.

_Then let us find water._

 

Castiel stood up and pointed out into the distance. _That is the best direction to go,_ he said, keeping his eyes rooted to Dean’s as Dean shakily stood up, _You will have to walk_ , he warned.

 

Dean laughed. _I’ve already taken ‘the first step.’ How hard could the rest be?_

_That is so. Then you will need this,_ Castiel gave him a cup, _if you wish to be able to drink when we arrive._

 

Dean took the cup and held it close, beginning to walk in the direction Castiel had indicated. Castiel continued to grip him tightly, but did not help Dean as he walked, even when he became so tired that he tripped and fell in the rocky dirt. Dean cried out in pain, though his new skin did not break. _Why don’t you just_ leave _if you aren’t going to help anymore?_ he bit out, though he regretted his hasty words as he spoke them.

 

Castiel’s eyes were wide and solemn. _You would fall much further than to the earth if I let go of you now._

 

Dean shivered, and pulled himself up, finding the cup almost impossible to lift now. _If something matters it will only grow heavier with time,_ Castiel observed, _and you must keep a vigilant hold if you don’t want to lose it._

 

As they continued to walk, the landscape blurred into vague symbols that Dean couldn’t quite recognize. Castiel, who had been so warm before, was now pleasantly cool compared to their surroundings that only seemed to grow hotter and dryer with every step. While Dean gasped for breath as they plodded on, dust sticking to his sweaty skin, Castiel remained unsullied and alert, continually watchful of the path ahead.

 

Many times, Dean noticed shallow pools lying along the path, but Castiel always kept himself between Dean and the water, with a gentle admonition to keep going in the same direction. They were tempting until Dean noticed how dark and dirty the water was, not at all like the water they had come out of before. _You don’t have to keep steering me away from them_ , Dean insisted, irritated as Castiel nudged him away from what was barely a puddle, _I_ get _it, I won’t drink from them._

_They may be shallow, but it will be difficult for you to climb out if you fall in,_ Castiel replied gravely, the water’s sulfur-stink lingering long after it had faded from sight.

 

Once, when Dean thought he couldn’t bear it anymore, he asked Castiel if they could rest for a while. _Are you not thirsty?_ Castiel asked in surprise.

_Yeah, sure_ , Dean replied, _but I’m also exhausted. How much farther is this water anyway?_

 

Castiel was silent for many steps, troubled and slightly distracted. _The only way to rest is to step off the path_ , he finally confessed, _if you do that, you will have to start over. It will be much harder the second time, if you can even find the path again. I might lose my grip on you if you leave the path now._

 

Dean sighed and kept going, his steps slowly blurring into a concept of Forward, the cup heavier than he was. Castiel thrummed concern, seeming to hover anxiously around Dean even as he kept a solid grip on him. _If you let go, I’m going to fall back into hell, aren’t I?_ Dean asked, because the only thing that could make his steps and this stupid cup so _heavy_ was if all of hell was pulling him down, _This was pointless...we're not gonna make it._

 

Castiel twisted desperately. _You must keep going Dean_ , he pleaded, _Think of Sam!_

 

 _Sam._ Somewhere out there, Sam needed his brother. Somewhere, he was driving the Impala with the wrong music coming out of the radio, eating weird foods, and, if there was any good left in the world at all, finding someone who would make him smile and laugh and take away some of the load he was surely bending under. But that load couldn't be nearly as heavy as the cup. _Can't you at least take this cup from me?_ he begged as his sweat dripped onto the ground, some of his Red pooling with it.

 

Castiel pressed against him in a gesture Dean supposed was meant to comfort him. _It is very heavy,_ Castiel acknowledged.

_Yeah, so help me!_

_I do not know if I can._

 

A thought hit Dean like a bolt of lightning, and he looked up wonderingly to meet Castiel’s eyes. _You’re tired too, aren’t you?_

 

Castiel didn’t answer, but simply nudged Dean further up the path. The thought had formed in his mind now though, and it was suddenly strikingly apparent how worn out Castiel really was, even though he _appeared_ to be as bright and resolute as always. Something warm bubbled in Dean, that this mysterious being of light he didn’t really understand would be trying so hard for a lost cause like him. It made him feel stronger. _I’m thirsty_ , Dean declared, and ate one of the hard blue berries that Castiel had told him to save, an aromatic taste exploding in his mouth.

 

Fortified, his steps grew bigger, and he turned to offer the rest of his berries to Castiel. _You need them more than I do, don’t you?_

 

Castiel didn’t reply, but he ate the berries anyway. Their steps felt lighter now, as though someone else was helping them bear the load. Dean didn't think that the berries actually helped, but if Castiel thought so, then that was awesome. If nothing else, Castiel’s revitalized optimism was enough to make Dean feel hopeful too. But it was a complete coincidence that it was at that first moment when Dean let himself believe that they _would_ reach the water that they found the well.

 

Castiel let out a small shudder of relief as they approached the well, small and unassuming but full of good, clean water. There was no bucket or rope, and Dean looked to Castiel curiously. _You must draw out the water with the cup_ , Castiel explained, _but take care not to drop it._

 

Dean looked skeptically down at the water, the cup still heavy as hell. _I’m pretty sure I can’t reach that far_.

_You must._

 

Dean groaned and crouched, leaning down into the well for the seemingly futile task of scooping up some of the water from far below. _I don’t suppose I could just jump in_? he asked half seriously as his reach fell far short.

_You are too big to fall through the eye of a needle,_ Castiel replied indulgently, his presence steady and relaxed, his weariness seemingly shouldered.

_Yeah, yeah_ , Dean muttered, _I swear, this had better be the best fucking water I’ve ever drunk._

 

Castiel’s eyes glittered, as though Dean was the most endearingly perplexing thing he’d ever beheld. _Think not of reaching the water, think of Sam. You still haven’t told me why you wish to go to him._

_I told you_ , Dean retorted, _He’s my brother._

 

The cup brushed the surface of the water, but did not break it. Frustrated, Dean let it dangle for a moment and stared down into the deep blue water. As he reached down yet again, he imagined that instead of water he was staring into Castiel’s blue eyes, as deep and unfathomable as the well. He shivered, suddenly getting the impression that maybe he actually was. _You want your brother then,_ Castiel said from within the well that was now as full of Light as Water, _but why?_

 

Dean snarled and lashed at the water, the cup falling short by several infinities. Usually, when Castiel asked a Question, it rode along his breath and shook Dean to the core. But this time, it was gentle and warm, settling down gently inside Dean and spreading wide while keeping the answer closed. _It needs Light to open,_ Castiel whispered, and his Light withdrew deeper into the well, fading impossibly far away.

 

Dean panicked as he felt Castiel’s Light leaving him, _Stop!_ he cried, desperately reaching for the water, _or I’ll fall!_

 

Tears welled up in his eyes, pulled from somewhere deep within him, and reflected Castiel’s Light as it faded. But as it continued to pull away, Dean realized that the light shining in his eyes was _not_ Castiel’s. Somehow since Castiel had first pulsed Light into Dean when he was nothing but black, a little light had kindled itself inside him without Dean’s noticing, sheltered and sustained by Castiel’s own Light.

_Stay,_ he pleaded, feeling the question in him shake and quiver under his own Light.

_Why? Why should I? Why should I take you to your brother? Why do you want him? Why do you want me?_ Castiel demanded, each question pulling more of his Light away until his grip on Dean was all that was left.

 

A few tears landed in the well as Dean filled his cup with Water, his voice desperately cracking out, _Because I Love you._

 

Suddenly the well was gone, and Castiel was _there_ , _everywhere,_ his wings wrapping them both in Light as he lifted the cup to Dean’s lips. _If you are thirsty, then drink._

 

The water tasted like rising mountains that filled the sky, booming thunder, quaking forests, and the words _Dean Winchester has been Saved!_ He only drank half of it but that was enough, and it was alright because the other half was for Castiel. He smiled giddily as he held the cup to Castiel's mouth and let him drink, the gesture feeling truer than everything else around them.

 

The empty cup clattered to the ground, swallowed up by the earth as it rumbled and writhed all around them. Dean felt himself fall into dust, Castiel’s _blue_ eyes all around him as the world renewed itself. Castiel whispered, _Dean_ , and everything else faded away, _Fear not, for I have reclaimed you; I’ve summoned you by name, and you are mine. Of course I will never leave you._

 

Dean slept.

 

_*******************************_

_Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” And it was so._

_*******************************_

 

"Wake up."

 

Dean awoke on his back, feeling a hand grip his shoulder tightly, and another on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Castiel. “You look human,” he observed in surprise, “or mostly human anyway,” he amended quickly as he noticed the great wings shielding them from the sun, “You didn’t before.”

 

Castiel quirked his eyebrows, his form shimmering. “That is because that is what you know how to see. Did you truly think that you were able to see me for all that I was?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah, okay, whatever. What the hell are you doing anyway?”

 

“Shaping you.”

 

Dean felt his toes digging into the ground and his own hands helped him sit up, as though they’d been there the entire time. He turned his head to look at Castiel’s hand latched tightly onto his shoulder, the skin red and angry around the edges. “Hold still,” Castiel admonished, wearing a different face than he had moments before, “I’m almost done.”

 

Castiel gently ran his free hand all across Dean’s unmarred skin—Light sinking in wherever he touched—from the tips of Dean’s toes all the way to the crown of his head. He rested his hand over Dean’s face for a moment, muttering some dusty-sounding words before slowly pulling his other hand away from Dean’s shoulder, releasing his grip for the first time. Gently, he cupped Dean’s face between his hands. “Be whole,” he commanded, closing his eyes and resting their foreheads together.

 

Dean sneezed. “You done yet?”

 

Castiel opened his eyes (now in the face of dark-skinned woman) and glared, “I have carried you all the way from perdition, never letting go, guiding your tiny soul back to humanity, and now I’ve restored your flesh. Perhaps you could express a _modicum_ of gratitude?”

 

“Yeah yeah, I’m sorry,” Dean teased, “I’m ruining this whole powerful and mysterious thing that you’ve got going on here.”

 

Castiel’s wings flared out behind him, and the Light grew brighter. The human-shaped Castiel _blurred_ , somehow reaching beyond itself. It made Dean’s eyes hurt to look around at it all, and there was probably plenty of Castiel that he _couldn’t_ see. He swallowed, feeling even smaller than when he’d been Dark and Castiel was only unimaginably vast Light. “Okay,” he stuttered, “I got it, I got it. I’m sorry, really.”

 

The Light rippled and condensed, and Castiel folded his wings away, his eyes flickering down bashfully, now wearing a familiar face that Dean couldn’t quite place. Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and whistled. “Wow. That’s…I...I can’t even begin to imagine why someone like you would wanna help me, but, _thanks_ for saving me. I-I mean it,” he quaked, completely in awe.

 

Castiel looked up reverently, leaning forward to kiss Dean’s forehead. “You deserved to be saved.”

 

Dean fidgeted. The thought of Castiel cracking open the lid on all that Power again if Dean disagreed with him made Dean’s mouth run dry, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree with Castiel either. Nervously, he floundered about to find something, _anything_ else, to say, when he noticed something curious on Castiel’s shoulder. “What’s that?” he asked of what looked like a scar that had failed to heal.

 

Castiel tilted his head. “You do not know?”

 

“Um…obviously _not_.”

 

Wordlessly, Castiel pulled his hands away and gently lifted one of Dean’s hands to his shoulder, where it fit perfectly over the branded skin. He slid his other hand over the matching handprint on Dean’s shoulder. “It is unheard of,” Castiel explained, “for a soul so blackened by hell to reach out to one such as myself. I am certain this mark is the only one of its kind.”

 

“That’s very interesting,” Dean said impatiently, “but what _is_ it?”

 

“It is a bond, a symbol of what the bearer owes. This one is mine,” he squeezed Dean’s shoulder firmly, “Although it involves other parties. But _I_ will be the one to redeem it when your debt is paid.”

 

“So…the one on you is mine then?” Dean asked, feeling the scarred flesh under his fingers.

 

Castiel turned his head (it reminded Dean of Sam’s face) to examine it thoughtfully. “A profound thing, that,” he murmured, “It is exceptionally unprecedented. But I _can_ say that it is certainly yours to claim and mine to pay unconditionally. And it will of course fall to you to redeem it.”

 

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay, but what does that mean?”

 

“I suppose one might say that I’ve thrown my lot in with you, little one,” Castiel replied, “Although I do not know what that will mean in the end.”

 

“That’s crazy!” Dean exclaimed, “I mean, it makes sense that I owe _you_ something after you _ripped me out of hell_ , but what could you possibly owe someone like _me_?”

 

“Do not attribute all of what has taken place to me...I am not God, and no one can walk the path we took alone. You did far more than you may ever understand. Do not be troubled by this, Dean,” Castiel said serenely, “You will know what to do when the time comes.”

 

Dean looked in wonder at the human fingers, _his_ human fingers, curling over Castiel’s scar. It seemed impossible to him that he’d somehow made a mark on this incomprehensible being that had emerged otherwise unsullied from _hell_. He supposed that he should feel guilty, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind, so maybe he wouldn’t, just this once.

 

He pulled his human hand away, running his human fingers through his human hair, and curved his human mouth into a broad human smile. Just when he thought he’d fully appreciated how grateful he needed to be, another wave of truths would hit him and he just _couldn’t understand_ how he was so lucky, what good grace had allowed something so wonderful to happen to _him_ , of all people. “How am I _human_ again?” he blurted out.

 

“In all toil there is profit,” Castiel replied with the voice of a child, “And yours was the most arduous toil I have ever witnessed. Tell me about Sam now.”

 

Dean’s eyes shot up to meet Castiel’s. “He’s my brother,” he stated, his voice steady and unhesitant, “I’ve died for him and I’d do it again without thinking. I love him more than anything.”

 

Castiel leaned away, removing his hand from Dean’s shoulder. His eyes were proud and a little sad. “Love never fails,” he said.

 

Dean was silent, waiting for the proverbial hammer to drop. Castiel sighed. “You must return to him Dean, you are needed. There is Work to be done,” said a man with narrow eyes and no hands.

 

Dean nodded. Duty was something he was comfortable with, something he Understood. “Will you be there?” he asked timidly, half ashamed that he was asking yet more of this incredible being that had somehow Saved him.

 

“Of course. _Wherever_ you are, call me. I will come,” Castiel promised, the words crackling like electricity on Dean’s skin.

 

Relieved, Dean smiled and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Well if Sammy’s waiting then I guess we’d better get out of…where _are_ we, anyway?” he asked, curiously running his fingers across the bark of a tree that grew tall and green above them.

 

Castiel pursed his lips thoughtfully, running his fingers through his long blond hair. “ _I_ am in many places,” he said finally in a soft female voice, “You are in some of them with me. The only one that will mean anything to you is Pontiac, Illinois.”

_“Pontiac_?” Dean asked incredulously, “This sure doesn’t look like Pontiac.”

 

“You aren’t seeing Pontiac because you aren’t alive. What you see is another place entirely.”

 

“What, so I’m looking through ghost goggles or something then? Is that why they’re all crazy, they see the world as some hippy-garden-paradise?”

 

Castiel shook his head. “No, you aren’t dead either. Ghosts perceive the world much like humans. _This_ place,” he gestured beyond the wooded park to the Impala parked near a paved road, “is a summation of what we both find peaceful.”

 

Dean groaned, “So what the hell am I then...how am I not dead _or_ alive?”

 

“Because we haven’t opened the box.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean,” he scoffed, “so…what then...you gonna zap me full of some more mojo so that we can get that box open?”

 

“Mo-jo?” Castiel asked, tripping over the word slightly.

 

“Power, magic, light, whatever it is that you’ve been doing.”

 

A teenage girl frowned. “I will admit, I’ve just been doing what came naturally. There are no instructions for this, and I am...unsure...how to proceed. This is the first time I’ve brought someone to life.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Well, you’ve been doing great so far.”

 

“Yes…but Life is different from my…‘mojo,’” Castiel said, sitting back and hugging his knobby brown knees, “Life needs a…spark, of sorts. I had thought that making you receptive to it by restoring your flesh would be enough, but it would seem that is not so.”

 

Dean looked at Castiel’s troubled face that now perfectly matched his own, though his eyes were bright and _Blue_ , and painted a wider smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll figure something out. And in the meantime,” he assured, spreading his arms wide to gesture around them, “this place isn’t so bad.”

 

“If you like it here then I will bring you back one day,” Castiel promised.

 

Dean looked away, to a lake with a small wooden dock that was perfect for fishing. “Yeah…when all is said and done, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

Silence fell between them, heavy and expectant. It troubled Dean to see Castiel looking so completely _lost_ , and it reminded him that Castiel had always known the right questions to ask Dean when _he_ was confused. Somehow, Castiel could breathe a question into him that would take root and grow into an answer. Maybe Dean could do the same for Castiel. Impulsively, Dean leaned forward and kissed him. _Castiel?_ he asked breathily as he felt something in Castiel tremble, _are you alive?_

 

 _Yes,_ Castiel breathed back, _of course._ But Dean already knew that, he could feel it in everything. Castiel’s eyes were open and blue, and Dean was lost in them, like falling down into a well or looking up into the sky. Castiel’s hands pushed down warm and real on his shoulders, and the earth was firm and true under his back. _What is above me?_ Dean asked, only seeing _blue._

_I don’t know. You have to look up._

 

Life pulsed under Castiel’s skin like blood, warm and close but no good to Dean. He ignored it as he got deeper and deeper into the blue, no longer lost but now searching for, for what? The answer? He took a deep breath, trying to steal some of Castiel’s Life with it, but it stayed tantalizingly out of reach, even when he curled up to the Light as closely as when it had been the only thing holding him up out of hell. Castiel shuddered, a storm raging over Dean’s body. _Dean!_ he called frantically, _Come here! Take it!_

 

Was that a spark? This felt familiar, the Light all above and around and within him while he lay motionless and afraid. But this time it was _Dean_ that was looking for something. This time it was _Dean_ that felt his way into the Light, and _Reached,_ up through the blue.

 

Dean opened his eyes, half-rotted old wood hard on his back, and punched open the box.

 

_*******************************_

_God saw all that he had made, and it was very good._

_*******************************_

**Author's Note:**

> The following passages either heavily inspired this fic or were quoted/paraphrased (in narrative or in dialogue). There are certainly others, but those are all that I can immediately think of. Every one that was quoted/paraphrased should be marked with a *.
> 
> *Genesis 1  
> Genesis 3  
> Genesis 19  
> Genesis 28:15  
> Genesis 29:20  
> *Exodus 24:12  
> Deutoronomy 4:12  
> 2 Samuel 22:17  
> *1 Kings 19:5-7  
> *1 Corinthians 13:8  
> *Job 14:7  
> *Proverbs 14:23  
> Isaiah 12:3  
> Isaiah 43:1  
> *Mark 1:10  
> *Acts 22:16  
> Philippians 2:12


End file.
